NAOMI ♥ [060] dun dun dun..

[scientize]

Who: Naomi and Javert
Where: Their home.
Style: First I assume!
Status: Very closed.

Comments

[scientize]

[The frail woman is slightly taken back that her always watchful husband seems completely unaware of the topic at hand. As a medical professional who has diagnosised her own fair share of clients over the years, Naomi has seen first hand how it is oftentimes the most closest of families who miss out on earlier symptoms and changes in their beloved ill family members. But even with that experience and knowledge at her disposal, she never would have suspected Javert, sharp-eyed police inspector that he was, to miss anything relating to her failing health.

Waiting for him to move in her direction towards the table, that suspicious stare of his drawing another small smile to her exhausted expression, Naomi finally stoops to reveal a large, professional-looking envelope that has been laying in wait on one of their unused kitchen table chairs. She slides the package his way, giving him the option to sift through the contents now or at his own leisure.]

I had my will drawn up today.

[She pauses, giving the man a moment to say something if he woukd like before she dives into the thorough agenda she has planned out carefully down to the very last details in her mind.]

[chose_death]

[Javert is an immovable stone.

He does not look down at the package. He does not remove his gaze from Naomi's wan and tired face. Had he not noticed her decline? No, that isn't exactly true. He sees perfectly well how she grows thinner, less steady, less able to leave the home for extended periods of time. But on the days that she does venture out-of-doors, she makes such an appearance of strength, vitality and fortitude that he would often second-guess himself, despite extensive research into any treatment options still available to her during his free time. It is a wonder how the assistance of good makeup (and perhaps, he suspects, the occasional shot of liquor for color and analgesic effect) can disguise all-consuming ill health.

At long last, Javert's nostrils flare like an irate bull's.]

Well, [remarks Javert blandly.] That is dramatic.

[scientize]

[There is no sweet, ringing laughter drawn from her lips today at his remark, but that smile, ghostly as it is, looks much more natural and permanent now because of Javert's deadpan reaction. Naomi doesn't need to explain aloud to him just how much she appreciates this kind of reply as opposed to the wailing, moping equivalent she'd expect from most other people. For all his character faults and mistakes against her during the last two years together, her husband will always be the one person she can count on to be strong in these drastic situations. And that makes all the difference.

Leaving the envelope in front of him, Naomi's tiny hands retreat to her lap.]

I've left everything to you. Obviously. I'm not particularly close to anyone else in this place any longer, as you well know, except perhaps David, but he has no use for silly sentimental attachments like my books or clothes. So everything is yours to do with as you please. It won't matter to me either way if it stays or goes. [And as much as she'd like to see the home they'd made together stay the same in her absence, the woman is perfectly aware of how Javert lived before her, so she will leave that decision up to him. It isn't as if it will make any difference to her when she's gone.]

Now, as far as my laboratory is concerned, you will barely need to lift a finger. A friend of mine from the hospital has made a very generous offer to take it as is after I'm gone. The contract is already drawn up and ready to be signed away whenever the time comes. Between the money from that exchange, the funds I've saved over the years in my separate account [her dark head bobs towards the envelope, implying everything he needs is there], and insurance, any medical bills that might come up should be completely covered. I'm not going to leave you in debt on your salary.

[chose_death]

Any use I would have with your books or clothes is gone when you are dead, [Javert snaps quickly and bluntly. He still has not made any approach to the envelope, letting it rest untouched on the table. It is clear from his edging irritability that the matter of Naomi's impending death is not one Javert cared to allow to linger in his head, no matter how much it lurked in the very back of his thoughts.] Kind of you to leave me debtless. [And he adds in an ominous, low, distracted mutter,] That will free my obligations and ties. I can act as I want...

[He folds his arms obstinately across his chest, his lower lip slowly jutting forward like the underbite of a bulldog.] You are talking of this suddenly. How much longer? What is your timeline? Come, you must have one in mind!

[scientize]

[This snappy irritability is more or less what Naomi expected of the man as this dark conversation continued on, so ignoring it is simple enough. If positions were reversed for the pair, the woman tells herself, she'd likely be acting in the same childish manner. So scolding Javert for basically not wanting her to die is pointless and downright cruel.

Whether she catches that ominous remark or not that Javert mutters to himself so darkly, Naomi makes no acknowledgement, instead moving directly to his final inquiries.] I'm not very hopeful. It has been months since I've felt at all normal, but the last week has been very difficult. I'm sure you've noticed how rarely I can even force myself out of bed.

This is the nicest meal I've made for you in a long time. [She still manages a light tease,] I hope you aren't too disappointed in all of the leftovers and takeout we've had lately.

[chose_death]

If it is just meals and bedrest that concern you, I will not expect it of you. [Javert's eyes roll toward the ceiling impatiently.] Keep your strength to yourself. I am not a chef. But I will arrange them now. For both of us.

[The Inspector regards her darkly. His eyes, for now, are not the eyes of a typical concerned lover. Instead they are the eyes of a medical examiner or a corner, cold and calculating and analytical, sweeping over each and every death-shadow cast upon Naomi's face. His voice does not soften, for Javert is rather incapable of softness, but it does lower still further to a quiet, impassive, accented lull.]

It strikes me that you are allowing yourself to sag into the bedsheets. It doesn't matter to me how qualified you are. I don't accept a self-examination. I will call in a physician. A specialist. I know of some. Then I will hear a proper timeline from their blasted mouths.

[scientize]

I assume this is one of your bullheaded moments when you won't take 'no' for an answer?

[Her smile fades, giving the police inspector a much greater look at just how thoroughly exhausted his younger wife really is currently feeling. As much as she may appreciate him cooking for himself (because there's little chance she will be eating much of it) and generally taking care of her when she needs him the most, the fact that Javert wants to bring other people into their personal affairs just doesn't sit well with the woman. Not when she's already accepted her own grim fate and is ready to move on.

Her pretty mouth tugs into a frown.] I don't want to spend the rest of my time drugged up alone in the hospital. That's what any specialist will tell you to do with me. They'll say it will help to prolong my life, but that isn't what either of us want. Not like that.

[chose_death]

You know I would not permit that. [There is a rock-hard glint to Javert's quiet voice. For the first time, his eyes narrow to a near squint, not quite a blink. It is as if she has grown fuzzy, and he wanted to make her out of a dark and bleeding background.] I will not send you to rot the rest of your days in a hospital.

I said I wanted a timeline. You insist treatment isn't possible; fine! But still you pirouette about the thing I want. If you don't know, I will get someone to tell me about it.

[The corner of his mouth twists.]

Or do you want to keep your element of surprise? [Again, his nostrils flare, repeating dully,] That is dramatic.

[scientize]

[Her tiny form relaxes considerably under the man's odd stare. As unreasonable as it is to believe her husband would ever send her away against her last wishes, Naomi can't help but feel a small burst of relief at hearing the words spoken directly out in the open between them. The last thing she wants is to become a burden to him in her illness, but the single thought of being shipped off to the hospital alone, drugged up and completely unaware of herself, is so much more terrifying to her than her own impending death.

Her fragile hand slips across the table to rest over his finally, a true affection and thankfulness in her touch.]

Fine. I accept. [There's a tiny bob of her head in acknowledgment.] You can bring in your own doctors and specialists to prod and poke all they like until they can give you the answers that you're looking for. I can't deny you that.

[He has so little control over any of this terrible situation she's forced him into, so Naomi is willing to let Javert do just about anything to soothe a few of his worries, even if it puts her at physical discomfort.] I promise to keep any sharp words I have at their treatment to myself so they don't get frightened away. I'll behave.

[The 'for you' isn't exactly stated, but the implication should be obvious enough.]

[chose_death]

[Javert exhales. The tension drains from his back, face, and shoulders. He looks at his wife with a sagging expression.

It is, perhaps, a glimpse at what the Inspector honestly thinks and feels. No walls, no appearances to keep, his normally combed and impeccable hair now unfettered by stress. But he is calm and resolute despite his melancholia. He understands the prospects and he understood them from the start.

--Though he is not quite resigned to them. Not yet. One of them had to have some priggish, guard dog bite in them, right? Where was that fight, that stubborn grasp for success? Naomi certainly wasn't stepping up to the plate for it. For an ex-suicide, Javert is filling that role quite nicely, when it is not himself that he is fighting for.

The will papers are virtually forgotten, unimportant in the grand scheme of things. He leans forward at last and draws a matchbook from his pocket, striking and lighting the candles at the center of the table. He beckons Naomi closer with a dismissive flick of his wrist and peers closely, an eyebrow arching high.]

You look like hell.

[Javert casts a glance to the bookshelf. He knows how worn and well-loved her collection looks.]

Do you have enough amusements? [he asks with pursed lips. For your sick days is the implication.] You've read them all, haven't you.

[scientize]

I'm still prettier than you, [Naomi can't help but tease back, a much more natural smile spreading across her pale, tired face. Though a dreadfully honest remark like that might result in most husbands being slapped or ordered to the couch by their spouses, Javert's strange wife only brightens considerably at the blunt comment, feeling somehow much better with their situation. Yes, nothing has really changed even with this airing out between them and she was still going to eventually die, but the doctor has her husband as a steady support for the rest of her days and that really makes all the difference.

The fight may have been sapped out of her weeks ago by the terminal cancer that has slowly been creeping up on her life for years, but with Javert more than willing to fight for her sake, Naomi feels much more relaxed and ready to accept the inevitable.

But she obliges at his summon, scooting forward in her chair to give the man a much closer view of her haggard appearance and the dark shadows lingering under her eyes. Here in their home together, the woman is more than willing to share just how badly her health really has been failing her lately, even if it something she generally prefers to hide.

Naomi follows his gaze out of the corner of her eye towards the direction of their (her) bookshelf at his question.] I've read all of them about a hundred times. Would you pick me up something new? [She squeezes his hand, smiling.]

Something racy with a handsome, shirtless man on the cover. Maybe about a police officer.